Brothers in Arms: Beginnings
by LeagueChampionRed
Summary: Two brothers choose their own paths in the vast and beautiful province of Skyrim.


_In the continent of Tamriel,_

_The province of Skyrim,_

_Home of the Nords._

_4__th__ Era 189 _

_Rorikstead_

''And that's how those damned Elves took over the Imperial City in 4E 174, boys!'' Jorgen ended.

His black haired wife, Astrid, frowned at him.

''Watch your language in front of the kids, Jorgen.''

''Sorry, my love. Won't do it again,'' Jorgen said obediently and gave Astrid a kiss on the cheek, which left Astrid smiling.

The twin boys, Gunnar and Bjorn, clung onto their father's leg.

''Tell us more, father! We want to hear how many Elves you killed!'' Gunnar yelled.

Bjorn shouted: ''Did you smash their heads with your bare fists? Or did you chop their heads off?''

''It's late, you two need to get to bed!''

The twins grumbled in disappointment.

Jorgen thought about a solution.

He kneeled in front of his 7 year old sons and proposed: ''If you go to bed now, your mother will sing you a song! Isn't that right, Astrid?''

Astrid sighed.

''All right. Which song do you want to hear?'' she asked.

''The Dragonborn comes!''

Astrid coughed and breathed in.

Then, she began to sing.

''_Our hero, our hero__  
__Claims a warrior's heart___

_I tell you, I tell you.__  
__The Dragonborn Comes___

_With a voice wielding power__  
__of the ancient Nord art___

_Believe, believe__  
__The Dragonborn Comes___

_It's an end to the evil,__  
__of all Skyrim's foes___

_Beware, beware__  
__The Dragonborn Comes___

_For the darkness has passed__  
__and the legend yet grows___

_You'll know, you'll know.__  
__The Dragonborn's Comes''_

The two boys clapped and Jorgen joined in.

Astrid bowed and then said: ''Now, off to bed, you two!''

_The next day…_

''Today's lesson!''

Jorgen clapped his hands together.

''Now, you two have mastered Dwarven smithing. Now I will teach you how to smith Elven weapons and armor!''

''Elven?! But I thought you hated Elves!'' Gunnar cried.

''You need to know your enemy if you want to kill him, Gunnar!'' Jorgen said.

Bjorn looked unimpressed.

''Why would you need to know your enemy if you're going to crush his skull with a warhammer?''

Jorgen sighed.

''You have a lot to learn. And that's why I'm giving you this…''

He walked into the house and came back with a pile of books.

''…and I want you to know everything about what you need and how to make Elven weapons and armor.''

While dumping the books into the twins' arms, he noticed a man walking towards his forge.

''How can I help you?'' Jorgen asked the man.

The man was hooded and carried a bow with arrows on his back.

''I need an enchanted Ebony dagger,'' the hooded man growled.

''What kind of enchantment?''

''Shock damage.''

''All right. Pick it up next week.''

The hooded man turned around to leave, but then Jorgen spoke.

''Bring enough coin with you. Ebony doesn't grow on trees, you know.''

The hooded man nodded and walked off.

Jorgen turned to his children.

''Gunnar, I want you to stop by at Alder to get some Ebony ingots. Bjorn, head to Farengar and tell him that I'll stop by in a few days to get the dagger enchanted.''

Both boys ran off in different directions after Jorgen gave them the gold.

Bjorn had inherited his father's blonde hair, but Gunnar had his mother's beautiful black hair.

While watching his sons run off on, Jorgen thought of their future.

Jorgen knew that the Aldmeri Dominion, the elves, will attack the Empire again. Two huge empires crossing paths is unavoidable. Tamriel is too small for both of the superpowers. The previous conflict, the Great War ended with incredible destruction. Few people were untouched by its carnage.

A second conflict is unavoidable.

The thought of his two sons having to go through what he went through was unbearable to Jorgen.

Then there were the Forsworn.

Forsworn, the mad Bretons who were driven from the land that they had owned for centuries, had set up their own kingdom in the wilderness of the Reach. It's only a matter of time before those Daedra worshippers and their Hagravens come down from their holes in the mountains and set this small village in flames.

Just a few weeks ago, a horse with a headless guard rode into Rorikstead. The Forsworn brutality also knew no limits, it seemed.

From behind him, Jorgen heard a low grunt.

''Hello citizen, keeping well?''

Jorgen turned around and looked at the Whiterun Hold guard that just spoke to him.

''Hello, guard. I'm fine, thank you.'' Jorgen replied.

The guard nodded and asked: ''You were a soldier in the Legion in the Great War, I have heard.''

''Yes. I was in one of the Nord Legions at the Battle of the Red Ring.''

Jorgen couldn't see the guard's reaction because of the helmet that covered his entire face.

''By the Nine, you have my everlasting gratitude. If there is a way I can repay you, let me know.''

The conversation ended abruptly and the guard quickly walked away.

''Wait.''

The guard stopped in his tracks.

''What do you need?'' he asked.

''How many men are stationed here, in Rorikstead?'' Jorgen questioned.

The guard thought for a moment.

''Has to be around 50, I think,'' the guard answered.

''Just 50?! Shor's bones, how are 50 guards going to defend a town against numerous Forsworn and their damned woman-birds!''

The guard was taken aback by Jorgen's sudden outburst.

''But we haven't actually seen a Forsworn for weeks, if not months! We just know they're there, cowering in their caves. By Ysmir, the biggest thing we've had this month was that kid Lokir stealing a horse!''

Several people looked at Jorgen and the guard's discussion.

Jorgen realized he might have been a bit too angry. After all, what could a mere guard do about it? Shouting at him wouldn't solve anything.

''I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so angry,'' Jorgen apologized.

"You shouldn't apologize for your opinion, _citizen._ I shall ask the commander of the Guard here to request more troopers from Commander Caius in Whiterun.'' The guard said.

Jorgen was surprised by the guard's reply.

''Thank you.''

Bjorn stepped up to Farengar's house.

It was one of the nicest houses in Rorikstead, probably because Farengar is one of the few wizards who offers enchanting services in Skyrim.

'_House of Secret-Fire' _

So read the inscription on the door of the wizard's house.

Bjorn, son of a blacksmith, didn't know how to read. Nord boys are supposed to make and wield weapons. Leave the reading to the elves.

The 7-year-old knocked on the door.

No response.

Doubtful, Bjorn knocked on the door again.

Again, no response.

Slightly irritated, Bjorn tried to open door.

To Bjorn's surprise, it was unlocked.

Bjorn went inside the house and closed the door behind him.

The house was dark. Books and chests with books inside littered the hallway.

Uncertain and slightly scared, Bjorn advanced and opened a door to an even darker room.

Bjorn carefully walked forward, paying close attention to his surroundings.

''Gotcha!''

The young Nord fell to the ground, and found that he was unable to move.

A man that Bjorn recognized as Farengar Secret-Fire, stepped from the shadows towards him.

''What are you doing in my house, you little runt?!'' Farengar shouted at the motionless Bjorn.

Bjorn tried to speak, but he even was unable to do that.

''How old are you anyway! Do they like them young these days, huh? Who sent you! Bring me to your leader, or whoever sent you to kill me!''

Farengar's voice was shaky, like one of a nervous and paranoid person. His appearance was that of a man who has been living in a cave, without seeing sunlight for decades. His hair was untidy and his clothes looked old and were ripped in a few places.

Bjorn tried to say ''I don't want to kill you'' but his lips were still locked in the same position.

Farengar seized Bjorn by his legs and turned him upside down. He started shaking the boy's legs furiously, like someone would do when searching something in a cloth.

''Let's see if you got any weapons on you, you little runt!''

All of the gold that Jorgen gave to his son fell on the floor.

Farengar looked smiled and laughed out loud.

''Aha! What have we got here? That's the gold your boss gave you for killing me, isn't it! No weapons, though. Did you want to strangle me? Use a spell and burn me to ashes?!''

Finally, Bjorn was able to move and wrangled free from Farengar's grip. He fell face first to the ground.

''I was sent here by my father-'' Bjorn said, but was interrupted by Farengar.

''Aha! So your father is the one who wants me dead? Go back to your father and tell him to come, if he has the guts to do so!''

Bjorn was normally calm, but he started to lose patience with this madman.

''Shut up! I have come here to tell you that my father will bring a blade that needs an enchantment in a few days! Your pay is on the floor, and I'm not going to pick it up!''

Farengar seemed petrified.

''So…you're not here to k-kill me?''

''Does it look like I am a murderer?''

It looked like Farengar finally regained his sanity in the encounter.

''I-I'm sorry, it's just with all these bandits and Forsworn around…'' he apologized.

Bjorn grunted. After a silence of a minute or two, Bjorn asked what had been on his mind since he saw all the mess.

''Why is it so messy here?''

Farengar smiled apologetically.

''I'm moving to Whiterun. It's safer there, and I heard the Jarl needs a new court wizard. My new home is going to be a nice house. It's called Breezehome. Ever heard of it? Very close to the famed market.''

''No, 'fraid not. I'll take my leave, then,'' Bjorn said and ran out of the house.

After running a considerable distance away from Farengar's house, Bjorn started walking normally again.

He felt the painful spot on his face where he fell on.

_Crazy idiot. _


End file.
